Temptation

Did you ever try to know temptation? Not fall into one. Not avoid one. Not judge someone based on his interaction with one. But get to know her.

To come to think of it, it works in fairly simple ways. Or at least they seem easy. That thing called temptation.

She sits there with smouldering eyes, eyes that enchant and subtly draw your gaze. Stealing glances at you.

Once she knows she has your attention, she knows her task is half over. The smile that pulls you near. Puts questions in your mind.

Just this once. What’s the harm. It’s not as bad as it’s made out to be. It’s a vicious cycle. He does it too, why not me. Oh I remember the last time. What if someone finds out.

While you’re busy grappling and wrestling with conscience, experience, knowledge and things that come to you, she’s busy with her next move.

She unravels herself in her full glory. She is next to you, enticing you, drawing you in, drawing you near, pushing the right buttons, her smell, her sound, her touch; it’s all there for you to pull you in.

Then arrives the moment of reckoning, the either or moment.

Will you forget the consequences, push God’s grace a little closer to the brink, blank out that portion of your mind, drown the small voice of conscience in the loud din of pleasure?

Or will you stand your ground?

The decisive moment awaits your verdict.

And then.

सोचो

सच बोलना आज कल बिलकुल गलत है
किसी की मदद करना पछतावा लाता है

देखो उस शरारती बच्चे को, लाइफ में आगे जायेगा
कितना शांत बच्चा है, पीछे रह जायेगा

आगे बढ़ो ज़िन्दगी में, रास्ते बहुत हैं
कुछ भले है, कुछ नहीं भले हैं
क्या संत बने फिरोगे, सिर्फ अच्छा रास्ता चुनोगे?

अरे idealism छोड़ो practical बनो
ज़िन्दगी एक rat race है
Rat बनकर दौड़ते रहो

मेहनत, लगन किताबों में अच्छी लगती हैं
ऑफिस में पोलिटिक्स, मेहनत से सस्ती है

एक दिन तुम पहुंचोगे सफलता के शिखर पर
कितनों को रौंदकर, कितनों के पीठ में चुरा भौंककर

लेकिन सब से ज्यादा लहू बहेगा चरित्र का तुम्हारे
और सफलता के उस शिखर पर कब्र होगी उसकी

Hate Ok Please

I was running late for work. As usual. Fortunately I got a cab real quick. The cab driver seemed the usual, North Indian with close cropped hair with a bit of grey showing, red threads on wrist, wearing a white uniform.

The journey began. I whipped out my book to read. I always get this real nice, rich person feeling when I sit in the back seat reading my favourite book. It’s no fun driving around in city like Mumbai.

Moving on, the cab stopped at the Cuffe Parade signal and a Bharat Gas cylinder delivery boy pushing one of those carriers-in-front bicycles came up next to the cab. The boy was merely 16-17 years old, wearing a very dirty uniform that was two sizes too big for him. His carrier was full of delivery cylinders and a few more were hanging off the outside railing as well.

As the boy struggled to keep the bicycle from rolling backwards on slight incline, my cab’s driver yelled, “Gaon kaunsa hai? Bihar?”

The boy seemed to ignore him.

The cab driver repeated his question. He shook his head and said, “Nagpur. Nagpur ka hun.”

Cab driver said “Kya baat kar raha hai? Raj Thackeray kaisa kaam karwa raha hai tumse. Ye kaam to Bihariyon ka hai. Pata nahi hai kya? Bolo Raj Thakeray ko tum ko accha kaam dene ko.”

The boy didn’t reply. Maybe he didn’t care.

The signal turned green.

Hatred festered.

Facebook-ed

Oh what’s this Facebook?

I am on Orkut already. Who needs Facebook.

Ok what the heck, another social networking site. Let’s make an account. No harm done.

Oh, what’s this HOMEPAGE?

Who wants to know what everybody else is doing.

Ok maybe it’s not such a bad idea.

Ohhhhh…. Nice.

Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha… that was a funny video.

Ok dude so you went to Goa. Am I really going to see 139 pictures of you in your ganji?

She’s in a relationship? With HIM? Women have NO choice these days.

Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Sidin Vadukut is so funny. But his book is lousy.

So how exactly does he operate in an open relationship?

Wow! Manchester United won another game. Now the fans will like each other’s status messages and kill every other team in the league. These guys are so cool.

Like. Like. Like. Like. Like. Like. Like. Like. Like. Like. Like. Like. Like. Like. Like.

(After looking up the cute chick in office on Facebook) Oh, she has a boyfriend. As usual.

Facebook chat sucks. Seriously dude. Nowhere close to Gtalk.

25 people liked ‘I used to talk near the table fan to hear my robot voice.’ Oh so you’re a retard and you’re not alone and you’re showing that off? Nicely done.

The fatass of my class went to the US. For studies. On a grant. Oh.

Why do all these oldies type with the Caps Lock key on?

My dad and mom are on Facebook. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Hide the albums. Change relationship status to ‘Single’.

Oh, he got married. Must like and must comment on the relationship status change. Half the people don’t mean it anyways.

Oh, nice status message. Must like. At least.

Yes dude, we can see you’re holding the camera and clicking a self-picture. Poser!

To be continued...

Joy Salve: An Obituary by a grandson.

My memory fails me but I can only see flashes of moments.

Him feeding me varan-bhaat (dal-rice) after I returned from kindergarten.

Teaching me ‘Yeshu tumhe bula raha’ while he played the harmonium.

Him following me as I sped away on my tricycle on his evening walks.

Sharing two half-glasses of sugarcane juice after the cycle ride was over and I was famished.

Always walking with quick steps, as though refusing to give in to senile decay.

His ever present smile that sometimes vanished when India lost at Hockey or Cricket. Hockey defeats would hurt a little more. He used to be a centre-forward himself.

The jokes and incidents he would always repeat and laugh heartily each time he recounted them.

Him kissing me as I left to be with my nuclear family, he’d always have a little bit of stubble that would prick a little. But over time, that came to be his identity to me.

Each time the whole family was together, he would insist we have prayer time before dinner. Most of us grandchildren would roll our eyes; stop all the fun we were having and troop in quietly, just because he said so.

It wasn’t fear. It was just adoration.

My grandfather, Joy Samuel Salve, passed away on 14^th October, 2010 due to renal failure.

He was 91.

His last days were inactive as he was bed-ridden. But he had already lived a life that would make his creator’s heart swell with pride.

Some one eulogised at his funeral that he was never seen empty-handed, always distributing tracts containing the gospel of Christ.

Once someone asked him, “Uncle, do you realise many people trample these tracts underfoot, not even bothering to glance through it? He replied, “A hundred might trample it underfoot, but at least one of them will read it.”

He left an indelible mark on my life and the surprising part was, he did it without even trying.

The seeds of faith that he sowed in me when I was toddler have taken firm root within, the songs he taught me move my heart each time I sing those lyrics, always praying, always questioning his loved ones and their little faith, always putting God first in times when God is often the last resort.

I didn’t weep when they brought in his body or when I dressed him in his best suit or even when he lay peacefully in his coffin at the cemetery chapel. But before they had to pick the coffin to take it near the grave, I broke down.

At that moment, phrases like ‘boys don’t cry’ and ‘be a man’ meant little to me. I had to mourn and let out the grief I thought I was handling well till then, sometimes concealing it under all the pre-funeral running around.

I realised how much he meant to me and the difference he made to my life.

My faith is too small and his shoes are too big to fill in.

I’ll miss you Azoba. Always.

Leh-Ladakh and tons in between Part I

There are times in your life when you get into something, not really knowing what you’re getting into. I was just looking for a long overdue vacation. I had no idea I am going to be blown away, turned inside out and have a once in a lifetime experience.

I took a biking vacation to Leh-ladakh with my Elder brother/Friend/Most admired person around, David Sehar on his Royal Enfield, ‘73 model. Close your mouths now, it’s a superb bike, extremely well maintained. More on that later.

Much has been said about Leh-Ladakh and sometimes I suspect, the best things about the place, can never really be articulated.

A biking vacation isn’t really for those of you who like armchair vacations, with a butler at your beck and call. It’s tough. Almost like not being on a vacation. Only this time, you’re the only one kicking your own arse. And loving it.

Absolutlely mindnumbing butt aches. Very very few of us have experienced this in the real physical terms with our soft seat easy going lives. Especially if you’re riding pillion. The first couple of hours are okay, you can manage.

And then, it starts.

The only thing you really want to do is get off the bike, and stand. Yes, stand and not rest your posterior anywhere. At all. I’ve had quite a few meals and chais buffet style, only that they were at a roadside dhaba.

The road till Manali is very good being a national highway. The real fun was really after Manali.

Due to some technical glitches, we could only begin our ascent on Sunday evening. I had hired a Bajaj Avenger and so the butt aches weren’t really on the horizon.

Our first hurdle was Rohtang pass, at 13000 feet. It was just 50 kilometers from Manali but it took us a good three hours to traverse the mountain roads, bad roads, steep inclines, hairpin bends with steep inclines, narrow bridges. The view would just get better with every hairpin bend.

We reached Rohtang top at 8pm and the Sun was out. I tried to flick the headlights of my bike on. No response. Just the sound of flicking switches and swooshing chilly breeze. I had a mix of emotions. Fear, excitement, stupidity, mad rush of adventure among others. David and I decided to carry on because it made no sense going back. His bike’s headlights were working fine and I had done this before. Just as precaution, I even switched on the left turn blinker.

But well, we had no idea what on earth we were getting into.

Leh-Ladakh and tons in between Part II

We began descending Rohtang pass and boy, the road just vanished. What we had in front of us was a combination of the mud that had flown on to the erstwhile road, with stones and small rivers that had chosen to flow through our path.

 

Our bikes would often get stuck in the shin deep muck but somehow we pulled through. It was getting even more difficult as we kept moving forward. Then, at one point both mine and David’s bike got stuck. My Avenger was a self-start so it started up and moved on without a stutter. But the bullet wouldn’t come to life at all. Besides, all this was happening in pitch dark, as David couldn’t keep his bike’s headlights on. It would’ve drained the battery.

 

So here we were. In the middle of nowhere, with steep mountain on one side and deep valley on the other, deep slush and muck at our feet, with no moon or stars or even a flickering light anywhere in the mountains around us, at 3 degree celsius.

 

We only had prayers on our lips.

 

And on this occasion, God did answer and very quickly at that. A Mahindra Xylo drove up behind us and he stopped to check on us seeing us stuck. He was a local and knew exactly how bad our situation was. He offered to follow us, showing us the road ahead with his headlights.

 

A little ahead, on another extremely difficult muddy patch, David’s bike was stuck again. This time even his strength gave way. The air is very thin at high altitudes and even a little effort takes away a lot from you.

 

The Xylo driver stepped out of his car and into the deep muck and helped David start his bike. He didn’t know the technique to start the bullet. Yes, there is a technique; it’s a bullet afterall. But he still tried and after 7-8 random powerpacked kicks, the bike came alive.

 

He followed us patiently for over 12-15 kilometers of treacherous terrain. He could’ve easily zoomed past us but he didn’t. He didn’t’ even honk once to hurry us on. He kept his promise and didn’t leave our side till we cleared the pass and reached the next village, Koksar.

 

Both David and I believe this was a real life divine intervention. We thanked this nameless man everyday of the trip. 

For what it's worth

It was early evening and we were running late. Somehow we knew we would make it in time. Nothing starts on time in India, including funerals. A decent crowd had turned up to pay their last respects. It was my friend’s father who had passed away. He was admitted to the hospital for diabetes. He succumbed to kidney failure. Renal failure as the doctor’s note put it.

It was strange how quickly a man with a name, with honour, with a life suddenly becomes a mere body. All conversations too refer to him as ‘The Body’. All that remains is a pile of muscle, flesh and fast clotting blood. Stripped of all decency, the body is wrapped tightly in a shroud, like an object being parcelled, labelled and mailed away.

I couldn’t help but think about the momentary nature of our lives. Right from birth to death to everything in between. So many questions kept darting back and forth in my head. All our plans, wishes, dreams, vices, egos, self-esteem, pride, glory, wealth, power, connections, mistakes, achievements, eccentricities, deepest darkest fears, all amounts to nothing.

It’s the end. Totally.

Yet we spend so much of our time in them, investing so much time, emotions, money. It all seems perfectly logical when we are alive and kicking.

So many enjoy life while they are here while many others advocate preparing for the next life in this life itself. Some even castigate their past lives. My moment of disillusionment was just with how insignificant we are in the scheme of things. Even the greatest men couldn’t bring life to a grinding halt.

Sometimes we really do lose sight of what’s really important.

Things that outlast life itself.

How long will that car last?

How good an investment is your flat?

How long will that meal at that fancy place be remembered?

Is winning always really that important?

How long will you hold that grudge?

How long will that hurt fester the sadism within?

How long will you abuse your body?

How long will it hold up?

Points to ponder, food for thought or maybe just plain bullshit.